


Rites of Passage

by seeminglyincurablesentimentality (myinnerchildisbored)



Series: Rose Shelby vs. All the Bastards [11]
Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-03-20 17:38:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18997345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myinnerchildisbored/pseuds/seeminglyincurablesentimentality
Summary: There's a first time for everything...





	Rites of Passage

**Author's Note:**

> This is set roughly 1930 - Rose is 15. For those of you, who have been clamouring for first kisses and the like, you're welcome...and also, I'm sorry.

“Sharon Lee’s getting married.”

Rose nearly spat out her mouthful of mushrooms. He’d said it like it was nothing, like he was announcing the cat was having kittens or the milkman had been late.

“For a fact?”

“Saturday week,” Tommy said. “At Oat Hill.”

“Sharon? _Sharon_ -Sharon?”

“Why’re you so surprised?” Her father cocked his head a bit.

“Dunno…” Rose admitted. “Just seems…odd.”

“She’s old enough-“

“She’s seventeen,” Rose cut it.

“Better late than never,” Tommy said with a slight grin.

“Is seventeen late to get married?” Charlie asked from the other side of the table.

Rose rolled her eyes instinctively, but really, when you were eight years old, there was precious little difference between seventeen and forty-seven.

“Depends on who you’re talking to,” Tommy said. “Daia Lee was asking if we’d offers for our Rosie yet...”

“ _Offers_?” Rose stared at him.

“Expressions of interest, if you prefer.” Her father seemed to really be enjoying himself now. “We’ve not, though, word must’ve gotten out-“

“Did they pick the _romer_ out for her?” Rose interrupted. “For Sharon?”

“Likely as not.” Tommy shrugged. “They’ve approved of him at any rate.”

“What’s she have to say?”

“I don’t know, Rosie,” he said. “Ask her yourself. They’re coming to town tomorrow, to get the dress. I told Daia Lee you’d meet them to go along.”

“Can I go, too?” Charlie asked.

“No,” Tommy said decisively. “Women’s business, eh, Rosie?”

“Rosie’s not a woman,” Charlie protested.

“She’s not far off.”

Rose raised an eyebrow at him and turned her attention back to her breakfast.

#

Getting the dress turned out to be rather an operation; apparently requiring a small army of consulting women of all generations. There was Daia Lee, of course, and Ronja Lee and Anna Lee, Sharon’s sisters; then there were their cousins on either side – Eva, Flora, Erin, Orla and the other Sharon – Sharon’s auntie and Jimmy Lee’s wife, Salma. They filled the dressmaker’s to capacity, possibly beyond. There was much palaver about what whether anything that didn’t swallow Sharon in whole could still be considered decent, whether it was outrageous to purchase a new dress in the first place, whether lace was a thing of the past…it was endless.

“Are you excited, Sharon?” Rose asked, while the rest of the women were busy shouting at the shop lady about finding something that was chaste and alluring in equal measure.

“Yea,” Sharon said with a smile that seemed real enough to Rose. “He’s lovely.”

“Lovely how?” Rose frowned.

“He made this for me.”

Sharon held out her arm and showed off a bracelet. It was not much more than a bit of flat, bent metal of some kind, but someone had painstakingly hammered a pattern of birds and flowers into it.

“That is nice.” Rose nodded appreciatively. “Is he a silver smith or something?”

“A farrier.” You’d have thought he was a Hollywood star, the way Sharon said it.

“What’s his name?”

Before Sharon could answer, she was swallowed up again by her entourage and passed back behind the curtain to try on another dress. Ronja sidled up to Rose.

“His hands are fuckin’ enormous,” she whispered. “He could put two hoofs in one of them, no trouble.”

“Does that look odd?” Rose asked.

“No, you barely notice,” Ronja grinned. “He’s huge all over, built like a brick-shithouse. But…”

“But what?”

“Dumb as a bag of hammers.”

Ronja shook her head with such a great impression of a sad face, Rose nearly bit her tongue off trying to hold a giggle in.

“And a stutter… _amadoubellen_ …he can’t get a sentence out,” Ronja sighed.

“ _Chavaia_ ,” Rose whispered through gritted teeth, tears of laughter pooling in the corners of her eyes.

“His mother did most of the talking when they’d the introduction,” Ronja continued mercilessly. “His old man’s the same, turns out, can’t tell his arse from a hole in the ground and can’t even ask anyone to show him which’s which ‘cause he can’t fuckin’ talk properly, worse luck. _Chapite!_ ”

“Christ,” Rose moaned from behind her hands, hiding her bright red face now. “Poor Sharon…”

“Poor Sharon?” Ronja nearly shouted but stopped herself just in time. “Poor Sharon, me arse. She’ll be the brains of the operation no contest. He adores her, he’s like a dog. Can’t believe his luck. He’ll furnish the muscle for whatever she comes up with. Poor Sharon, indeed. He doesn’t even drink…probably can’t figure out to get a bottle open…”

Rose broke down in hysterics but Sharon’s return from the other side of the curtain saved her.

Sharon looked beautiful, there was no argument, but the dress was too long and a bit too loose, truth be told.

“I’ll take it in and up, if you’d like,” the dressmaker was saying, “but there’s not a chance it’ll be done before Thursday.”

This set off another round of discussion. The Lees would be decamping to Oat Hill some time later in the week to start preparations and coming back into town that close to the wedding would be a hassle, to say the least.

“I could bring it,” Rose weighed in on the conversation. “I could pick it up Thursday and come out Friday morning.”

“Ah, yea,” Sharon beamed. “And then you’d be there for the _rarti chavingo_ , it’d be great.”

“Orright, sorted,” Rose smiled back.

“You’ll not forget, will you, Rosie?” Sharon narrowed her eyes for a moment. “I’ll have you skinned for a pair of boots if you don’t bring me that dress on Friday. I’ll nail you to a tree.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Rose said.

“D’you need to ask Mister Shelby if you can come early?”

“Na…” Rose was the very embodiment of off-handedness. “This is women’s business, so I’ve heard.”

#

“But I’m bringing her dress!”

Rose was ready to pick up a paperweight and hurl it at her father’s head.

“Oh, and she’s wanting to sleep in it, is she?”

He was leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, nearly a little amused.

“No, but she’ll need it first thing in the morning,” Rose said exasperated. “And they’re having the last girl’s night, before…you know…she’s not a girl…anymore.”

“And what’s that entail?”

“Dunno, do I; I’ve not been, have I. ‘cause I’m never allowed anywhere.”

He actually laughed.

“It’s not funny,” Rose groaned. “I promised I’d bring her the bloody thing, she’ll kill me. It…I gave my word, y’know, it’ll give mar the Shelby name if I break it.”

“We’ll live.”

“Why can’t I?”

“You’re too young.”

“Ronja’s goin’, she’s ten bloody days older than me.”

“Orright,” her father conceded. “I’ve things on, who’ll drive the car?”

“Me?”

“Pull the other one.”

“Fair enough,” Rose said. “One of the lads?”

“They’re not your personal fuckin’ chauffeurs, Rose.” Tommy uncrossed his arms and reached for his glasses. “You’ll come up with me Saturday, we’ll leave early, she’ll have her dress right after she’s had her breakfast.”

Rose opened her mouth to unleash a lament on the unfairness of the world in general and their household in particular, when inspiration struck her with such force she nearly saw stars.

“I could ride,” she said.

“What?”

“I could ride.”

“Rosie, I’m not havin’ you ride a fuckin’ horse up to Oat Hill and back, just because you want to have a piss-up in the woods with the Lee girls the night before the wedding,” her father said drily.

“Firstly, no one’s having a piss-up,” Rose said. “Daia Lee’ll be there and every other daia as well, so we’ll be lucky if we see midnight _and_ -“ she paused for dramatic effect “- I’d not need to ride the horse back down, not if I bring Johnny Dogs up _The Duchess._ ”

The Duchess, an enormous lumbering thing of a draft horse close to Johnny Dogs’ heart as much for sentimental reasons than her unearthly strength, had been curing a mild limp in their stable for the past two or so months.

“We’ll motor her up on Saturday as well,” Tommy said.

“Yea, but if you turn up with a lorry,” Rose smiled sweetly, “you know as well as I do, you’ll be loaded up to take back god knows what – or who -, if someone doesn’t make you trade it for their donkey in the spirit of kinship. If I take her up, Johnny Dogs’ll be happy and you’ll have no one pestering you.”

“It’ll take you all day.”

“I’ll ride her into town Thursday, stable her at the shipyard, sleep at Finn’s and ride out from Small Heath Friday morning,” Rose was on a roll now. “I’ll be there by bloody lunchtime.”

There seemed to be the faintest crack in the staunch wall of refusal.

“We can’t all turn up in the mumpli car…” she was fishing for gold now, blindly but valiantly, “…they’ll think we think we’ve gone all soft.”

“When I have my chat with Daia Lee on Saturday morning,” her father said slowly, “and I hear you’ve been anything but the very fuckin’ picture of decorum on Friday night, there’ll be trouble coming.”

Rose blinked a couple of times, unsure she’d heard him correctly.

“You’re not messin’?” she asked after a moment.

“I’m not,” he said, like he could hardly believe himself. “Just don’t fall off, orright?”  


#

No girl had ever travelled in such style and comfort. The Duchess was practically a sofa on legs; especially since Rose had appropriated a pair on Finn’s trousers. She’d ridden in a dress from the big house to Small Heath and that had not been the business at all. The Duchess was so huge, Rose might as well have ridden in her knickers. This though, this was wonderful.

Rose had left the saddle behind at the shipyard – it hadn’t fit properly anyway, the beast was too broad – and hung the bags straight over the Duchess’ arse. She’d ended up with pretty substantial cargo.

There was Sharon’s dress, of course, wrapped and wrapped again and then wrapped once more in Rose’s own dress for the wedding, just to make sure it arrived pristine. Leaving the big house, Rose had taken a tour of the kitchen and ended up with all manner of cured meats and cheese to contribute to the feast; and before departing from the shipyard, she’d detoured into what used to be the gin-shed and helped herself to a bottle or three…or five.

Turning up empty-handed, after all, would have been bad form.

She was letting the Duchess have a drink at the crossing of Lime Lane and Wolverhampton Road when a lad pulled up, driving a cart holding three live pigs and a cage of chickens.

“ _Sin Rom_?” he asked, barely off the seat, leading the horses close enough to get their noses to the water.

“ _Arva_.” Rose shook took another bite of her apple and let the Duchess have the rest.

“You goin’ up to Oats Hill?” He reached into the back of his cart and pulled out a sausage the size of an infants arm.

“Yea.”

“Me as well.”

“ _Kasko san?_ ” Rose asked.

“Wood,” he said. “Sonny Wood. You?”

“Shelby,” she said.

He cocked his head and took a enthusiastic bite of his sausage.

“ _Savo_ Shelby?”

“Thomas Shelby.”

Sonny Wood seemed to find this the funniest thing he’d ever heard. His mass of curls was shaking with laughter, in fact.

“What?” Rose asked when he was finished.

“I’ve been told he’s gone all mumpli, Tommy Shelby, with a big house and a garage full of motors,” Sonny Wood said. “Sooner’d pick up a pen than a shovel, I’ve heard anyway. Can’t be true but, seeing as he’s sent you off all on your lonesome with _that._ ”

He nodded towards the Duchess, who’d moved on to chomping grass.

“S’pose a pen’s no good if you can’t write,” Rose said. “You’ll do much better with a shovel, I’m sure.”

“Couldn’t have written you a finer mount, could he?” Sonny smirked.

“Watch that your knackers don’t drown themselves there,” Rose said pleasantly. “They’ve seen better days, eh? Might be better off yoking the pigs and letting the horses ride in back.”

“True,” Sonny grinned. “But they’ll want the pigs soft and fat, like lords o’the manor. No use getting them fit now, when they’re about to be eaten.”

“So, what’re you?” Rose asked, putting on her most regal expression. “The butcher boy?”

“Best man,” he said casually. “It’s me brother who’s marrying the Lee girl.”

“My apologies,” she smiled. “I’d never have guessed, with you being able to string a whole sentence together.”

“You know our Danny?” Sonny Wood looked surprised.

“Nah,” Rose admitted. “Bu-bu-but w-w-w-w-w-ord tra-tra-“

“Yea, orright, orright…” He held up his hands in mock defeat. “We leave the speechifying to mumpers like your old man and the real work to the real roms, eh?”

“Like yourself?” Rose laughed, climbing back onto the Duchess. “God help us.”

Sonny Wood dragged his knackers out of the lake.

“Hang on,” he said. “I best see you don’t get lost along the road. _Rani_.”

“And have me and the horse both die of boredom listening to you going on and keeping pace with these?” Rose clicked her tongue and the Duchess got into gear. “No, thank you.”

“I’ll see you there,” Sonny Wood called after her.

“If you don’t get lost yourself,” Rose called back over her shoulder.

#

They’d been singing for hours when Ronja Lee pulled Rose away from the fire and into the woods. It was a welcome break from the heat and the noise, and the bottle of gin they’d been passing round covertly. They weren’t drunk, not legless at any rate, just giggling like they were fit for the asylum.

“Will we go for a swim?” Ronja asked.

“Lovely,” Rose said dreamily.

The stream wasn’t far and the night was warm and clear, the moon was nearly full. They hung their clothes in a tree and screamed when they got their breath back after plunging in the freezing water. They swam across to some boulders and sat, submerged to the waist, their legs going numb.

“We’ll be next, you know?” Ronja said suddenly.

“Next for what?”

“What d’you reckon, thicko?” Ronja rolled her eyes. “To get married.”

“Fuck off,” Rose said.

“Fair enough, you might still have a while,” Ronja smirked. “Good little school-girl that you are. But I’m on the auction block come Sunday morning, I’m tellin’ you.”

“You can always say no,” Rose ventured.

“Not if the coins right and the legs aren’t bandy.” Ronja puffed out her cheeks. “He’s an army of brothers and cousins, Sharon’s Danny, might be one of them.”

“I’ve met one,” Rose said. “He’s the one brought the meat.”

“Swanny Wood?”

“No, Sonny Wood.”

“Yea, I know…” Ronja smacked Rose’s forehead with a freezing hand. “They call him Swanny, but.”

“Why would they?”

“ ‘cause he’s like a swan in a flock of sparrows, apparently. Got all the looks and all the charms.”

“He’s a goose, at best,” Rose said with a giggle.

“Still better than a sparrow.”

“Yea, well, at least they’ve necks long enough to stick their heads up their own arses.”

Ronja laughed out loud.

“Are you slagging me, _Rani_ Shelby?”

Rose and Ronja screamed and slid into the river, all the way to their necks. Sonny Wood stood over them on a boulder higher up, bursting his shite laughing.

“ _Nash_ ,” Ronja shouted up at him. “What d’you think you’re doin’, sneaking round in the dead of night so close to the bride camp?”

“Takin’ in the sights,” Sonny said pleasantly.

“ _Bolde tut_ ,” Rose snapped.

They were at the other side of the stream now, far enough away for him not to be able to glimpse anything, but their clothes were in the tree line.

“Or what?” he mocked.

“Suit yourself,” Rose said with much more dignity than she felt. “But you’d better enjoy what you see, ‘cause my uncles’ll cut your eyes if they hear of this.”

Sonny Wood’s smile was bright in the moonlight.

“It’d be a lovely last thing to have seen,” he said. “But I’ll leave youse to it all the same.”

“Cheeky bastard,” Ronja called after him. “We’re not kin til tomorrow, I can still set your fuckin’ cart on fire.”

They waited until they were sure he was gone before racing into the shelter of the trees and getting their dresses on without bothering to dry themselves.

“What an arse,” Ronja sighed. “Handsome but, for a Wood at any rate.”

“Are you munted?” Rose asked. “He’s horrible.”

“Yea, right.” Ronja cocked an eyebrow. “That’s why you’re grinning like an ejit, is it?”

“I’m not grinning,” Rose said lamely. “I’m just cold. That’s all.”

#

By the time her father and brother arrived the next day, Rose was just emerging from the vardo where they were getting Sharon and themselves ready for the ceremony.

“Orright, Rosie?”

Rose shook her head and nodded towards the vardo.

“They’ve all gone mad,” she said. “There’s enough flowers in there to build a house and they still can’t find ones they like. Bloody women, eh?”

“They’ve scrubbed you up, at any rate.” He was looking her up and down with a hint of a smile.

“Wait til you see Sharon,” Rose grinned. “She looks like the queen of the faeries.”

“Travelled well then?”

“Yea, no problems.”

“Fair play to you, Rosie,” her father said.

Charlie came racing over from somewhere in the growing crowd.

“I’m to give you this,” he announced a little breathless, handing Rose a folded bit of paper.

It had a drawing of two miserable looking pigs pulling a cart, a goose sitting on the driver’s seat, holding a pen in its beak.

“What’s this?”

Tommy was craning his neck but Rose folded the paper and – as her dress inconveniently was without pockets – slipped it into the top of her stocking.

“Ledger,” she said. “ _Tikni_ bets. Women’s business.”

“How’s this your job?”

“It’s not,” Rose said smoothly. “I’ve to give them to Pol when we get home, she’s all over this stuff apparently.”

“But-“ Charlie started.

“D’you want to come look at the horses with me, Charlie?”

Rose took his hand without waiting for a response and pulled him off towards the rapidly filling makeshift pen at the very edge of the camp.

“That’s no ledger,” Charlie said, thankfully not until they were well out of Tommy’s earshot. “He said it was a present.”

“Did he say anything else?” Rose asked.

“Yea.”

“What, Charles?” she asked with a groan when it became clear her brother wasn’t going to elaborate.

“What d’you give me for telling you?”

Charlie, in the past few months only, had caught onto the fact that you could demand compensation for most things. If he’d been able to get away with it, he’d not have passed the potatoes at dinner without some form of payment.

“I’ll _not_ give you a smack, how ‘bout that?”

“Yea, orright.” Charlie managed to sound so businesslike about his defeat, Rose couldn’t help but laugh. “He’s doing the boxing tonight and wants you to pick him his first bout. He’ll smash him for you, he reckons.”

“The bloody ejit,” Rose muttered, unable to keep a smile at bay.

“This is secret, isn’t it?” Charlie asked.

“A little, yea.”

Rose gave him a hand up so he could climb onto the fencing keeping the horses together.

“What-“

“I’ll owe you a favour, orright?” Rose said distractedly.

On the other side of the pen, Sonny Wood, already dressed in his Sunday best was feeding one of his knackers a carrot, smiling first at the feeling of the horse’s lips on his palm and then at Rose directly when his eyes found hers.

#

Sharon got married to the lumbering lamppost that was Danny Wood – Ronja hadn’t exaggerated, not even a little, he’d mitts like coal shovels, like frying pans – and ten minutes later the music was up and the real party was underway.

Rose caught glimpses of Sonny Wood.

He was helping carve up the pig once it was freed from the spit, she was ferrying plates to clusters of respectable senior relations.

When she was dancing with Ronja and Sharon and some of the other Lee girls, she could see him clapping on the outside of the circle, his eyes following her as she whirled around inside it.

He was arguing with some other lad, his hands flying as he rambled at him; she was watching from where she sat by the fire, having a cider and a break.

Then he disappeared towards the smaller fire out on the field, where they’d do the boxing.

“Will we go watch the fighting?” Rose asked Ronja.

“Not if we want to live another day,” Ronja said.

“Just a little look?”

“Even a mumper like yourself must know better.”

It was rare for Ronja to turn down a suggestion that involved bending the rules of what was acceptable.

“Men’s business,” she said without a hint of sarcasm. “Unless you’ve a husband over there, you’re giving them a wide, wide, wide berth.”

Rose nodded, sipped and slipped away as soon as Ronja was distracted by the conversation next to them.

#

Sonny Wood, his shirt discarded, appeared out of the darkness before she’d even halfway crossed the field.

“ _Savo_?” he asked in a low voice.

“The big bastard.” Rose grinned at him, fairly sure he couldn’t make out her face. “The one with the red shoes.”

“I’ll bring you his front teeth, eh?” Sonny was already jogging back towards the fire. “You can have ‘em for earrings, for a kiss.”

Rose stopped dead in the dark. He was gone before she could think of anything to say, anything at all, never mind anything sharp. Making a run for it, back to the safety of the girls’ fire, was certainly the smartest course of action; yet it felt like it’d be an admission of defeat as well. He’d have gotten the better of her then, Swanny-Sonny, and the thought of giving him the satisfaction of losing her nerve was enough to make Rose cringe.

By the time she got close enough to see the fighters, Sonny Wood was shirtless, sweating and getting absolutely clobbered.

There was blood in his curls and on his chest, dripping from his cut lip, but he seemed undeterred in the face of the wardrobe of a man in front of him. Rose had indeed picked one big bastard. She flinched slightly when Sonny Wood was nearly spun full circle by a punch to the jaw. He stood, shaking it off, looked up and gave her a wink before he turned and charged.

While he didn’t get a punch in, he did manage to trip over a stray bit of firewood and, as he went flying, his forehead slammed into the big bastard’s face like a bloody mallet. The big bastard fell back like a felled tree and knocked himself out when he hit the ground.

Sonny Wood got to his knees, ran his hands over the trampled grass a few times and got up. He glanced over a Rose and then looked into the direction of the dark field. She backed away from the fire and started to amble back towards the lights on the other side.

“Close your eyes and hold out your hand.” 

He'd come out of nowhere.

“I can’t bloody see a thing as it is,” Rose pointed out.

“Just hold out your hand then,” he said. “Please, _Rani_ Shelby.”

“Very well, _Rai Papingo_.”

He dropped something hard and small into the palm of her hand.

“It’s only one of them,” he said and she could hear he was trying not to laugh. “But it’s the best I could do. Forgive me?”

“Orright,” she said generously, her heart suddenly pounding so hard it nearly shook the tooth off her hand.

“So, I’ll get my prize?”

“I s’pose…”

It was awkward, in the dark. She got his nose and first but then his lips were against hers, not unlike a foal chewing a sugar cube from your palm.

When a hand went down on her shoulder, just when she started to wonder how one went about ending a kiss, Rose sucked in her breath so hard she nearly bit Sonny Wood’s lower lip off. He stood back and a second later copped a fist right in the nose.

“ _Nash_ ,” Tommy said and Sonny Wood, making an exceedingly wise decision, nashed.

Rose stood, heart racing, cheeks burning with all sorts of things.

“We’re going,” her father announced, wrapped his hand around her arm and started to march her back towards the wedding proper.

Rose wrenched herself free.

“Why d’you do that?” she asked hotly.

“Come. Now.”

“No.” Rose took a step back. “Why d’you need to embarrass me like that?”

“ _You’re_ embarrassed?” Her father was right in front of her and still she couldn’t see his face. “You?”

“We weren’t doin’-“

“Spare me, _Rani_ Shelby,” he said and Rose blushed so deeply she worried she might start to glow in the dark. “He’d have given you the treatment even if you had a face like a donkey just for your name.”

“It’s me he wanted to kiss, not you,” Rose snapped. “You’re just-“

“I’ll not have the first waster who crosses your path load you up with his bastard to move himself up in the world,” Tommy growled.

“Oh, so it’s orright for you to have as many bastards as you please but-“

Maybe he could see in the dark after all, because even though Rose wasn’t even sure where exactly her father was in front of her, his palm found her cheek with painful accuracy.

“Wait in the car,” he said. “I’ll go find your brother.”

#

The car was just past the pen with the horses. Charlie was sitting on his own on the fence, feeding one of the horses with leftovers from his pockets, his feet resting on the small fire bin in front of him. Rose leaned onto the fence next to him, resting her arms on the top and her head on her arms.

“You’ll melt your shoes,” she said morosely.

“It’s almost out.”

“We’re going.”

“Already? Why?”

“Don’t ask.”

“What’d you do?” Charlie asked.

“Just…go find the old man, orright?”

Charlie hopped off the fence and tipped over the fire bin. Stray embers spilled into the pen, catching the closest horse on the legs. It kicked back in surprise, through the gap in the fence, and caught Rose square in the stomach.

#

Rose knew they’d taken her to hospital. They’d put her on the tray of someone’s car, along with a couple of women she didn’t know, who kept pouring things into her mouth that made her woozy and, eventually, sleep. She was still surprised when she woke up in amongst all the whiteness; and more surprised still to find her aunt Polly sitting next to the bed.

She smiled when Rose opened her eyes.

“Hello, sweetheart.”

The smile was wet and Pol’s eyes were swimming. Rose became aware of a dull, throbbing across her belly. She was all wrapped up, it was nearly like a nappy.

“Why’re you crying?” Rose asked, trying to get up on her elbows before a sharp pain put a stop to it.

“I’m not,” Polly lied.

“Is it really bad?” Rose tried to lift up her blanket to see but Polly took her hands in hers. “Am I dying?”

“You’re not dying.” Polly kissed the back of Rose’s right hand.

“Where’s-“

“He’s just outside,” her aunt said softly. “Now, sweetheart-“

“Is he goin’ to kill me?”

“No.”

This, somehow, seemed like very bad news.

“But-“ Rose moved to sit up again and gave a yelp of pain. “Why’s it hurtin’ so much?”

“You’ve got to stay still, Rosie,” Polly said. “You’ll burst your stitches.”

“What fucking stitches?” A sob escaped alongside the question.

“D’you ever dream about babies, Rosie?”

“What?” Rose frowned. “No.”

“Never?”

“No, never,” Rose said. “Why?”

“See, sweetheart, you’ll be right as rain once you’re healed,” Polly said. “But they’ve not been able to undo all of the damage. They’ve had to take some of the broken bits out.”

Polly let go of one of Rose’s hands and wiped her eyes.

“What bits got broken?” Rose slid her freed hand under the blanket and felt for the bandages. It felt impossibly tender even through the layers of gauze. “The bits for havin’ babies?”

“That’s right, sweetheart.”

The tears were streaming down Polly’s face now. Rose looked at her, feeling useless and completely confused. It’d never occurred to her that she might have children one day.

“Nothing else?” she asked.

“Nothing else, Rosie.”

“But why’re you crying if I’m orright?”

“I’m nearly done.” Pol smiled through her tears. “And then, when I’ve washed all my ideas away, I’ll be so happy you’re orright, I’ll dance.”

She kissed Rose’s hand again and got up.

“Will I send him in?”

“Yea…” Rose said uncertainly.

#

Her father entered the room as one might a cage of starving lions. There were circles under his eyes, much darker than usual, and there was stubble on his chin. Rose couldn’t remember ever seeing him not clean shaven. He stopped at the end of the bed and cleared his throat, putting his hands halfway into his pockets, taking them out again. It was terrible. He’d no idea what to do, Rose could tell. Maybe he wanted to cry, like Polly, or shout or sit down and hold her or turn heel and run; but he couldn’t do anything.

“Rosie…” he tried but his voice was cracking and he was back to clearing his throat, quite violently.

“Don’t you start now,” Rose said as firmly as she could manage. “Pol’s already beside herself and I’m the one they’ve gutted.”

“Sorry, Rosie.”

He managed to look at her, just.

“That’s orright.” She felt a little tearful herself all of a sudden. “It doesn’t matter so much, does it?”

“No,” he said. “It matters as much as you let it, my little love, it’s that way with most things.”

“It could be worse. Right?”

“Right. Of course. Much worse…” He sat down on the edge of the bed carefully, like he was scared to break her more. “I’m sorry…”

“Not the end of the world, is it?” She needed him to stop apologising.

“Of course not, my little love,” he croaked.

“You won’t need to worry about wasters loading me with bastards now.”

His head snapped up and he looked at her, properly now. Rose gave him a shaky grin.

“That’s something, isn’t it?” she asked.

There was the smallest tug at the corners of his mouth.

“You’re terrible,” he said after a moment. “You’re just…that’s fuckin’ terrible.”

Rose’s grin was firming up a little, she could feel it.

“Bloody hell, Rosie…” Tommy was grinning now as well, despite his eyes swimming.

“I’m sorry…”

She was giggling, she couldn’t quite believe it. It was terrible, he was right, she was terrible, but there was no stopping it now.

“Don’t be,” he said, snorting a laugh. “Rough as guts, you are.”

“What’s left of them…”

They howled, both of them. Tommy had his hands on his knees, shaking with laughter; Rose was tearing up because her cut was being shaken all over the place by the ripples running through her. They laughed so loudly they brought Pol running into the room.

“What on earth…” She stopped at the end of the bed, staring at them as if they’d gone completely insane.

“It’s…” Rose couldn’t talk properly.

“What’re you doing to her, Thomas?” Pol demanded.

“Me?” He looked up at her, wiping his eyes. “You’re askin’ the wrong one…”

“He’s got me in stitches,” Rose whimpered, her face wet.

Her father doubled over and roared until he started coughing.

Polly looked back and forth between them, a few times, before she threw up her hands.

“Mad, the pair of you,” she said, slowly retreating towards the door. “Mad as fucking hatters.”

“Sorry,” Rose managed, biting her lip and looking down at the blanket.

“Sorry, Pol.”

Her father sounded so young that it made Rose look over, which was all it took to set them off again. They were still laughing long after Polly had pulled the door shut behind her; and even though it was terrible and not funny at all and her cut was throbbing, Rose didn’t think things could get much better than this.

**Author's Note:**

> romer - husband  
> amadoubellen - Mother of God  
> chavaia - stop  
> chapite - it's true!  
> rarti chavingo - girl's night  
> Sin Rom? - Are you Romani?  
> Arva - yes  
> Kasko san? - Who's are you?  
> Savo - which?  
> Nash - Go away  
> Bolde tut - turn around  
> Tikni bets - baby bets (put on the due date of the bride to be's children)  
> Rani - Lady  
> Rai Papingo - Sir Goose


End file.
